Warick was in Antwerp? Was this Jason’s doing? He had looked surprised on the phone, presumably when his contact had told him where he was, but I couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t all been an act for my benefit. This Warick was inserting himself into this investigation—my investigation—and I knew very little about him.

Except that Jason trusted him. But, did I trust Jason? In some ways, implicitly. I had never told any of my colleagues about my mum’s lifestyle, yet it had felt like the most natural thing in the world to speak to Jason about my unusual upbringing. And there had been our time together on the plane. The flight had lasted barely an hour, yet it had felt like such a significant moment in my life. If Jason wasn't as trustworthy as I thought he was, did that mean that I had let my guard down to the wrong person?

Yet, when it came to Warick, there were just too many warning signs to ignore. And Jason, while he was clearly an excellent agent, just didn’t seem to see them. There are none so blind as those who cannot see, and, when it came to Warick, Agent Kern had a giant blind spot.

“I thought you said Warick was based in the States?” I tried to sound casual, not confrontational, but that was difficult, given how angry I was feeling.

“I thought he was,” Jason answered. “But apparently he’s in Paris on business. He says he told me, but either he forgot to mention it or I forgot that he did!” Jason was also trying to sound casual about the whole thing, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was hiding something, or if he was just embarrassed that his contact had shown him up in front of a colleague.

“Anyway,” Jason continued. “He says he can help us. Introduce us to diamond merchants who might not be happy to deal with the cops.”

I furrowed my brow. We had a credible threat against a diamond store in Antwerp; why on earth would any of the owners not want to cooperate with us? It sounded to me like Warick was trying to inflate his own importance—either that, or he had an unhealthy interest in knowing the details of our operation here.

“So, what’s your plan?” I asked, trying to sound equally casual. I was going to make sure I met this Warick, and if Jason tried to stop me, then I had to start questioning his own motives. Money did strange things to people—even people who should be above reproach, like a CIA agent. I didn't for a moment think that Jason or even Warick were involved in what was going on—although that would explain why he had missed that Al-Farook was wearing a fake beard—but something just didn't sit right with me.

“I’m going to meet him for breakfast at his hotel,” he said. “He says he wants to discuss the photos I sent him of the burned diamonds, as well.”

“I?” I queried. “Don’t you mean we? We are investigating this case together, remember, Kern?”

Jason looked startled and a little hurt at my use of his surname, but I wanted to show him I was not going to be pushed around on this one. I had been tasked with watching over him while he was on European soil, including reporting his movements and conversations to Billman. There was no way he was freezing me out of this one without a fight.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, Christine,” he replied, emphasizing my name. “Warick doesn’t know you and it’s taken me months to build up this relationship. Besides,” he went on with something approaching a guilty smile, “it’s hard enough to keep him on track at the best of times. If I turn up with a pretty agent in tow, I’ll never get him to concentrate on the matter in hand!”

I looked at him with astonishment. “Are you seriously telling me you’re not taking me to conduct an interview because I’m a woman?” I shouted the last word so loudly that even Henri and his officers looked over. We were making a scene. I hated myself for being so unprofessional, for letting the situation get so far out of hand.

“You know what,” I said suddenly, “go and meet your contact. I have important work to do and he sounds like he’s nothing but a…a… blowhard, anyway!”

I was so angry with myself for losing my temper, but I was also determined that Jason was not going to meet Warick without me. If he wouldn’t take me along willingly, then I’d just have to find a way to sneak along without his knowledge.

* * *

I spoke to my new friend, Henri, about my plans, who turned out to be more than happy to help. I’m not sure what he thought I was up to, especially when I told him to keep it quiet from my partner. I think he thought Jason was having an affair and that I wanted the sound amplifying equipment he had promised to provide to catch him in the act. At least that was what his sympathetic face and paternal pat on the shoulder told me. That suited me fine; at least he didn’t suspect that the real reason I needed top-of-the-line listening equipment was to spy on my partner.

After we had finished up with our initial sweep of the diamond district, Jason announced that he was going to Warick’s hotel for the breakfast meeting. He watched me carefully as he said it, obviously worried that I was going to fly off the handle again or make a scene, but I simply said that I would go back to the base with Henri, who caught my eye and winked conspiratorially.

Jason didn’t ask Henri for a car, or hail a taxi, so I knew the hotel couldn’t be far. I used all the tricks I learned in my basic training to tail him, using parallel back alleys and shop doorways where needed. Eventually, by a process of elimination and assuming that a bigshot like Warick would stay in only the best hotel in town, I figured out where he was likely to be going and headed straight for a park across the street, where I could sit quietly, unnoticed, and listen to their conversation.

I was in luck. Even though it was a cool morning, Jason and the man I assumed to be Warick took a seat outside. I say ‘assumed to be Warick’ because the man Jason was meeting was nothing like I’d expected; I had pictured an older man, fat and jowly from too many dinners at his favorite club. This Warick was younger, slim, and actually quite attractive, in that floppy-haired, upper class sort of way. He and Jason shook hands amiably and took their seats, obviously very comfortable in each other’s company; Warick called the waiter over and spoke to him, presumably ordering breakfast. I wasn’t sure, as I hadn’t quite gotten my sound amplifier up and running yet.

Desperately pushing buttons and sliding switches, I kept one eye on the two men across the road as they started talking. Damn, I could be missing vital intelligence! Finally, I heard a crackle as the system sparked to life, and I turned up the volume to maximum to make sure I didn’t miss a thing.

“…did you get rid of her?” Warick was saying. This was not a good start for Jason, who responded with a laugh.

“I told her you’d be too distracted by her beauty.”

Now it was Warick who laughed. “You besmirch my character, young man!” he replied, pausing as the waiter brought out their coffees.

“On to business,” Warick continued. “How on earth did they find out about Antwerp?”

Jason was quiet for a moment. “My partner—Christine—she spotted that Al-Farook was delivering messages in Morse code by blinking.”

“Was he, by God!” Warick responded. “He’s a clever devil, isn’t he?”

The two men were quiet for a moment as they sipped their coffee.

“So, what now?” Jason asked. This was a different Jason to the one I knew; this Jason was deferential, almost unsure of himself. Either Warick was his boss, or Jason was scared of him. Either situation put the investigation at risk—especially if Warick really did know more than he was letting on.

“We’ve cased the area for suitable surveillance spots, but we’re going to need access to the shops,” Jason told him. I felt anger building up inside me. What did he think he was doing, telling a civilian the details of a secret and very live operation? Even if Warick was clean as a whistle, he shouldn’t be in possession of that kind of information!

“Understood,” Warick replied. “You know............ need to do.” Damn—I had lost the signal for a few seconds just as a truck passed by. What had he said? Did Warick need to do something, or had he been giving instructions to Jason? And what kind of instructions could a diamond merchant be giving a CIA agent? Yet again, I had far more questions than answers—but these new questions put Agent Jason Kern in a very difficult spot indeed.

Whatever had been said as the truck blundered past, it signaled the end of their meeting. They said their goodbyes, and Jason headed off in the direction of our much more modest hotel a few streets away. I packed away Henri’s equipment, keeping half an eye on Warick ,who simply sat in the morning sunshine calmly drinking his coffee. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, and I needed to know if that was true.

Time to speak to Jason.

* * *

When I got back to our hotel, Jason was sitting on one of the armchairs in the small reception area, apparently checking his phone. I had hoped he would be tucked away safely in his room, so I could sneak the listening equipment upstairs without him ever knowing I had been using it, but even after our little discussion that morning, I could hardly walk past without even saying hello.

“So, how was Warick?” I asked.

“Fine. Keen to help,” Jason replied.

“And did he have any useful intelligence for us?”

Jason looked up, puzzled. “Well, we would hardly discuss that sort of thing at a public meeting at a café,” he answered. My mouth dropped open, but luckily Jason had already turned his attention back to his phone. I could hardly stop myself from shouting my accusations to his face there and then. That was exactly what he had just done! With my own ears, I had heard Jason himself discussing secret operational details where anyone could have heard them. As far as I could see, there was only one reason he would lie; because he and Warick had something to hide.

I took a deep breath. “Of course,” I said as calmly as possible. “I just wondered if he suggested he had anything that could help.” Jason shook his head.

I was about to head upstairs to my room to get rid of the tell-tale listening equipment, when a sudden movement caught my eye. Was that someone on the roof opposite?

Before I could speak, I heard the all too familiar crack of a bullet piercing the glass of the hotel window. There was a split second of silence before all hell broke loose. The receptionist and fellow guests started screaming, whereas Jason and I seemed to go into autopilot—our training kicking in without us even having to think about it.

I threw my rucksack containing Henri’s probably very expensive listening equipment to one side as we flipped over the sofa Jason had been sitting on a moment ago and hunkered behind it. I would just have to hope I hadn’t broken the machine into a thousand pieces—or, at least, that Henri would understand why I had to sacrifice his prized gadget.

I was unarmed, as usual. Despite what you see in the movies, those of us in the intelligence services very rarely carry weapons. We tend to rely on our brains, and the brawn of local law enforcement to get us out of difficulties. As I looked across to Jason to ask what we were going to do next, I saw that he had removed a handgun from his shoulder holster. Typical American, I thought to myself.

“Not much use against a sniper,” I muttered.

Jason turned his gaze to me in surprise. “It makes me feel better, all right?”

I turned my back on him and got onto my hands and knees, ready to make a dash for the other end of the room, where the receptionist and two guests were huddled behind the desk, crying with fear.

As soon as I darted from cover, there was another shot. It missed me by a mile and pierced the elevator doors with a metallic clang, but I still heard Jason shout out my name in horror. I got to the shelter of the reception desk and tried to figure which of the three civilians was in the best state to listen to my instructions. The receptionist was hysterical, screaming something over and over in French that even I couldn’t understand; the husband of the couple who had been in the process of checking in was absolutely ashen-faced with shock. Only his wife was staring about her alertly, as if looking for the escape route I had come to help them find.

“I need you to go into the back office and lock the door,” I told her clearly, taking hold of her shoulders in a bid to make sure she was paying complete attention to every word I said. I didn’t even know that she understood English. “If it doesn’t lock, barricade yourselves in with anything. Use the furniture if you have to. And then phone this number”—I gave her Henri’s card with his mobile number scribbled on the back —“and tell him Christine and Jason are being targeted by a sniper.” She looked at me in total panic. “Say that back to me!” I commanded. I needed to be sure that she understood; I needed to be sure that she was going to call the cavalry. If Henri and his team didn’t get here soon, I wasn’t sure how far Jason’s handgun would get us against a rooftop sniper.

“Barricade in the office,” she replied, speaking with a slight German accent. “Call this number and tell them Christine and Jason are under attack by a sniper.”

I nodded at her, and pushed the three of them toward the back office, and, hopefully, toward safety. Even if the sniper was targeting me and Jason, there was no guarantee that civilians wouldn’t be accidentally hit. Anyone could end up hurt. Henri and his team needed to be on the scene quickly to clear the street and drive the gunman from his perch.

I took a deep breath and made a dash back toward the cover of the sofa, where Jason—handgun cocked and ready—was taking tentative peeks over the top and around the sides, clearly trying to identify the location of the sniper.

“Roof opposite,” I said breathlessly as I made it back to safety.

“What?” Jason bellowed over the sound of another quick round of gunfire, aimed this time at our meager shelter.

“I saw movement just before he started shooting. I managed to get the others barricaded in the back office and I told them to ring Henri.” I paused pondering my next course of action. Take care of myself or work with Jason to get us both out of here? I didn’t know if I trusted Jason, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to die. Besides, if he died here, there’s no way I would get any answers.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, finally making a decision. Better the devil you know, right?

Jason nodded grimly and gestured toward the door to the staircase. “There could be stairs to the basement?” he volunteered.

“But there might not. We’re going in blind—and going upstairs isn’t a great alternative plan. We could just end up being trapped up there.”

Jason looked frustrated. “Well, what do you suggest then? Running out into the street?”

He was right. The staircase—either down or up—was our only chance. We were sitting ducks here. The occasional shot still rang out in what was now an eerily quiet street. I strained to listen for the sound of sirens that would herald Henri’s arrival, but they didn’t come.

Another shot hit the sofa, and this time we both felt the impact. Our shelter had taken a few direct hits and was clearly starting to fall apart. We were running out of time.

“Time to go,” said Jason, who stood and sprinted low toward the door to the stairs. A bullet splintered the wood just as he disappeared through it.

“Jason!” I called and, with a burst of energy I didn’t even know I had, I sprinted after him, waiting for the inevitable searing pain as the sniper hit his target.

It didn’t happen, and I found Jason on the other side of the door, unharmed but panting heavily. He smiled and pointed. Stairs heading down.

“You got lucky,” I told him as we headed downstairs into what was obviously the hotel’s breakfast room.

We both froze as we heard a noise coming from a room off to one side. “Kitchen?” Jason mouthed at me. I shrugged. Surely any staff who had been in the building would have cleared out when the shooting started? We had to assume anyone who was still in the hotel was a hostile.

Jason motioned for me to stay behind him as we made our way toward a door in the corner which appeared to lead to the room from which the noise had come. Suddenly, I noticed another door off to my left—an emergency exit. I tugged on Jason’s shirt, in an attempt to pull him back toward safety.

He shook his head, and I looked at him in confusion. He pulled me close to him, and the memories of our brief hour on the plane came flooding back into every cell of my body. He whispered in my ear, “You go—if this guy is staff, I need to get him out of here. If he isn’t, we need to bring him in. He might have information we can use to get to Al-Farook.”

I shook my head but he pushed me away, mouthing ‘go’.

I was torn. My head was crying out for me to take the safe option, to get out of here. I could make sure help was coming, I told myself. I’d be more use outside than in here, where I would just hold Jason back. I didn’t even have a gun! My heart, on the other hand, said that I couldn’t just leave Jason alone to deal with whatever was down here.

“I’ll fetch help,” I mouthed at him and he nodded as I turned and ran silently for the exit.

Once through the door, I found myself in a narrow alley strewn with dumpsters and empty boxes. I stood for a moment to get my bearings and then turned left, away from the main street, fumbling with my phone and dialing Billman’s number as I ran.