“We’re doing a favour for the Americans. Koralev and a colleague worked for the Soviets. This was twenty years ago—a classified program, some kind of research. Genetics, as I say. From what we know, they saw how much money they stood to make in the real world and they defected. They offered their work to the CIA, Langley said yes, and they continued to work on it in a multimillion-dollar facility just outside Boston. The CIA set them up with a front company and poured money into the project.”

Beatrix read down the first page of the briefing. “This is Daedalus Genetics?”

“That’s right. They’ve been engaged in R&D, for the most part, taking money out of the DARPA budget. But it turns out that Igor is even more greedy than the Russians or the Americans expected. He and his colleague were due to attend a meeting at Langley last month, but he never showed up. The CIA asked us for help and GCHQ found him when he turned up in Caracas. That’s where he is now—Venezuela. You’ve got pictures in the file that a local stringer shot of him last week.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“The CIA wants him back. They don’t have an active network in Caracas and we do, so we’re doing them a favour, as I said. Returning him is the primary goal. But, between us, we’d like to know why he’s got them so worked up. So your orders are these: find him, secure him, then question him.” He let that word—question—hang in the air, although it really wasn’t necessary, because Beatrix knew exactly what it encompassed.

“What do we want to know?”

“Read the file. The short version is this: the working assumption is that he left Daedalus because someone was offering to pay him a lot of money. It’s likely another country—the Chinese, most likely, but maybe the French or the Germans. It could even be the Russians trying to take him back again. We’d like to know who it was, the circumstances behind his decision, and the agents who recruited him. But more important than that is what he’s been doing. Langley won’t tell us and, frankly, we’d like a briefing. It’s the least we deserve after helping them out.”

“And then?”

“Exfiltrate him. The Navy has a frigate in the region to stop the local smugglers. They’ll send a boat to pick you up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The usual protocols apply to this, Number One. You’re deniable, so don’t get caught.”

“Do I have any backup?”

“You do. There’s a man waiting for you. He’s SAS.”

She scanned the file without finding mention of him. “The name?”

“Major John Milton.”

She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”