The tiny aircraft Court flew was simple and slow, but it did have one advantage. He could put it down quickly and quietly, and he could land it pretty much anywhere. He found a straight stretch of road that ran along the far side of a wheat field from a farmhouse and barn; he could see no evidence of anyone close by, so he cut the engine and descended, guiding the glider to a bouncy but serviceable landing just after nine a.m. Once safely stopped, he climbed out and rolled the plane onto an adjacent farm track, the wings pressing through the wheat.

It was a breezy and cool morning; dust and chaff surrounded him in a brown cloud as he hoisted his two backpacks onto his shoulders.

He pushed through the wheat surrounding the farmhouse and came out of the crops just behind the barn. A small and dirty M2R pit bike sat unlocked near the rear door. Court thought it probably belonged to a kid; the engine was only 90cc. It was caked with hard dirt, and the tires looked like they were about to go, but it had over a quarter tank of gas in it and would help him quickly close the mile distance between himself and the area where the van disappeared.

He felt a little bad about taking some kid’s bike, but not that bad. The men who’d slaughtered a large group of U.S. and British intelligence officers this morning were close by, and Court would do anything in his power to bring them down.

He walked the bike into a narrow irrigation track through the wheat field, kept going until he was almost on the other side, and then fired it up. It turned over roughly, but in seconds he opened the throttle and raced in the direction of the woods he saw on the northern side of the building complex he’d spied from the air.

Once on a path in the thick woods he shut down the bike, then climbed off and pushed it along. As he did this he put his Bluetooth earpiece in and dialed Brewer’s number. Court found it unfathomable that she hadn’t been back in touch with him yet, and he was glad he wasn’t involved in whatever it was that had her so occupied, because it must have been one hell of a clusterfuck for her to put the slaying of several CIA officers on the back burner.

He found himself a little surprised when she answered, as it was three a.m. on the east coast of the U.S.

“Brewer.”

Court spoke softly, though he was hundreds of yards from the far edge of the woods. “It’s me. You get a handle on your situation?”

“Everything is under control,” she replied flatly.

“You sure?”

“Was just about to call you for a sitrep.”

“Sitrep to follow. But first . . . what’s the tally at Ternhill?”

Brewer said, “I just spoke with London station. We lost three officers and two pilots and suffered four serious injuries. MI6 didn’t fare any better. Three dead, three injured. It was a massacre.”

“You do remember I was there, right?”

She replied, “Yes, Violator, I do. Now, you.”

Court said, “I’m in the East Midlands now, I know that much. Haven’t stopped to check exactly where yet. The subjects holding the prisoner are here, for now, at least. I’m heading closer to pinpoint them.”

“Very good.”

“Send me a team and we can end this.”

Brewer said nothing.

“No?”

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen.”

Court felt anger welling in the pit of his stomach. “Why the hell not?”

“You’re in the UK. They have jurisdiction.”

“Then send me some Brits. They can jurisdiction the shit out of these fuckers once I get our prisoner back.”

Again she made no reply.

“Brewer?”

“Listen. We don’t know who told these people that there was a CIA flight landing at Ternhill delivering this prisoner. If it was someone on our side, then you’re better off without anyone else at the Agency knowing where you are and what you’re doing. But if the compromise came from MI6, well, we don’t want to run the chance we alert any opposition by informing them.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She sighed, audibly. “The Brits are convinced they have a mole, same as us. Perhaps more than one.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“They have let us know that they are working to ferret out their leaker, but we have to assume they are as exposed as we are.”

Court continued pushing the little pit bike through the trees. “Why did the attackers go to the trouble to do this at the airport? If they waited until the MI6 team was on the road with the prisoner it would have been much simpler for them, and they would have faced half the opposition.”

Brewer said, “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Perhaps they were missing some piece of intel that forced them to hit the plane to make certain they achieved their mission objectives.”

“Like they didn’t know for sure if the prisoner was being dropped off or if other people were being picked up,” Court said.

“Maybe,” allowed Brewer. “That might make finding out who did this a little easier on our end. Anyone involved in the code-word op itself would know it was a drop-off. But anyone in Support would only know that the plane was scheduled to pick a group up in Luxembourg and make a scheduled stop in the UK before proceeding to the U.S.”

Court said, “And that would make it less likely the compromise came from the British.”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean, possibly?” Court said. “Brewer, this is our leak, not theirs. Do I need to remind you that this isn’t the first time an Agency transport has been compromised recently?”

That was true. Just a few months earlier Gentry himself had been on a flight to Hong Kong that Chinese intelligence clearly identified as CIA. Brewer had been involved in that compromised operation, as well.

He noticed Brewer’s hesitation in admitting it, but finally she responded. “True. And your case isn’t the only one. This has happened other times.”

“That’s terrific. Here’s a thought. How about you stop putting me on Agency aircraft?”

“Fair enough. Actually, the reason I was recalling you to the U.S. was to help us in our hunt for the traitor.”

Court instantly knew what this meant. He wasn’t an investigator, and he wouldn’t be brought into the States to run a surveillance operation. No, he was an assassin. If Brewer was bringing him in, she was bringing him in to kill an Agency employee . . . in the United States.

“Has the person been identified?”

“Not yet. Hanley wanted you here and ready.”