trust the CIA. They always have their own agenda."
"I agree," Tomas said. "Which is why I'd rather have her where I can keep an eye on her, than running her own operation and potentially compromising ours."
"Don't mind me," Belle said. "Just pretend I'm not here."
"Look," Morgan said to Anya. "We're here now, and we've got the book - it doesn't really matter how. What can you tell us about it?"
"Book?" Anya said, and Morgan's face fell.
"Later," Tomas insisted, glancing casually round the café, too full of people, far too public for this conversation. "We were considering going back to Karamov, seeing if we can get anything out of him about his buyer. What do you have on him?"
Anya's lips, very wide and red, pulled thin with annoyance. Then she sighed and tossed a thick brown folder on the table. "We've been following Karamov for four months now - on another matter entirely, the bribing of some oil-industry officials - but he's not an easy man to pin down. Nothing definite on his buyer, though we've been tapping every phone number that's registered to him or any of his goons. But see for yourself - it's all in there." She nodded down at the file.
Morgan drew it eagerly towards him.
"My local connection followed Karamov after you left him," Anya said. "He's back at the Gellert for now, a few of his bodyguards with him, but chances are he'll be out of the country by the end of the day. If he heads to Russia, we're in trouble - his power base there is very strong."
"Sorry," Morgan interrupted, pushing his chair back with a dry rasp against the tiled floor. "I need a slash."
Anya shook her head at his departing back. "That's great. Perhaps he'll let us know how it went when he gets back. Tell me, Tomas, when did MI6 start recruiting teenagers?"
"He knows what he's doing," Tomas said, defending his partner on a long-ingrained reflex. But the truth was, Morgan didn't know what he was doing, not in this area. They'd told Tomas the younger man was there for any wetwork, and no doubt Morgan was very good at that sort of thing, but that wasn't really the point. Hermetic agents were generally recruited because of their interest in the occult. Richard had been conducting his own research long before he'd come on board, but Morgan seemed to have no affinity for their work at all - a positive dislike of it, in fact. Why had Giles picked him?
Tomas kept his worries to himself, chewing the problem over and finding nothing digestible in it, while Belle and Anya ordered dobostorte from their apple-cheeked young waiter.
Five minutes later, the cakes arrived, along with two silver teapots and some delicate china cups with the slightly faded picture of a rose on each of them.
A minute after that, Tomas was still staring at one undrunk, slowly cooling cup of tea. "Where's Morgan gone?" he said.
The weather had finally broken its oppressive heat as grey storm clouds moved in to glower over the city, but Morgan was still drenched with sweat. His heart raced, pounding against his chest with every beat.
He had to get a grip. He knew what he'd just done was extremely stupid. Best case scenario he'd be out of a job - worst case he'd become the Division's next target. But there was no way, just no way, that he was letting this book go before he found out what it meant. If it was written by his real father...
After his adopted mother had shown him his birth certificate, and before that day five weeks later when she'd taken him to the care home and told him he wouldn't be coming back, she'd let him ask her about his real parents.
Dead, she'd told him and he'd felt relieved. At least they didn't give him away because they didn't want him. He'd asked his mum to tell him everything she knew about them, these people he'd never heard of who turned out to be the most important people in his life.
"Your dad was an engineer," she'd said. "With BT, I think."
"And my mum?" he'd asked eagerly, but she'd just shrugged.
Had she been lying, or
"I agree," Tomas said. "Which is why I'd rather have her where I can keep an eye on her, than running her own operation and potentially compromising ours."
"Don't mind me," Belle said. "Just pretend I'm not here."
"Look," Morgan said to Anya. "We're here now, and we've got the book - it doesn't really matter how. What can you tell us about it?"
"Book?" Anya said, and Morgan's face fell.
"Later," Tomas insisted, glancing casually round the café, too full of people, far too public for this conversation. "We were considering going back to Karamov, seeing if we can get anything out of him about his buyer. What do you have on him?"
Anya's lips, very wide and red, pulled thin with annoyance. Then she sighed and tossed a thick brown folder on the table. "We've been following Karamov for four months now - on another matter entirely, the bribing of some oil-industry officials - but he's not an easy man to pin down. Nothing definite on his buyer, though we've been tapping every phone number that's registered to him or any of his goons. But see for yourself - it's all in there." She nodded down at the file.
Morgan drew it eagerly towards him.
"My local connection followed Karamov after you left him," Anya said. "He's back at the Gellert for now, a few of his bodyguards with him, but chances are he'll be out of the country by the end of the day. If he heads to Russia, we're in trouble - his power base there is very strong."
"Sorry," Morgan interrupted, pushing his chair back with a dry rasp against the tiled floor. "I need a slash."
Anya shook her head at his departing back. "That's great. Perhaps he'll let us know how it went when he gets back. Tell me, Tomas, when did MI6 start recruiting teenagers?"
"He knows what he's doing," Tomas said, defending his partner on a long-ingrained reflex. But the truth was, Morgan didn't know what he was doing, not in this area. They'd told Tomas the younger man was there for any wetwork, and no doubt Morgan was very good at that sort of thing, but that wasn't really the point. Hermetic agents were generally recruited because of their interest in the occult. Richard had been conducting his own research long before he'd come on board, but Morgan seemed to have no affinity for their work at all - a positive dislike of it, in fact. Why had Giles picked him?
Tomas kept his worries to himself, chewing the problem over and finding nothing digestible in it, while Belle and Anya ordered dobostorte from their apple-cheeked young waiter.
Five minutes later, the cakes arrived, along with two silver teapots and some delicate china cups with the slightly faded picture of a rose on each of them.
A minute after that, Tomas was still staring at one undrunk, slowly cooling cup of tea. "Where's Morgan gone?" he said.
The weather had finally broken its oppressive heat as grey storm clouds moved in to glower over the city, but Morgan was still drenched with sweat. His heart raced, pounding against his chest with every beat.
He had to get a grip. He knew what he'd just done was extremely stupid. Best case scenario he'd be out of a job - worst case he'd become the Division's next target. But there was no way, just no way, that he was letting this book go before he found out what it meant. If it was written by his real father...
After his adopted mother had shown him his birth certificate, and before that day five weeks later when she'd taken him to the care home and told him he wouldn't be coming back, she'd let him ask her about his real parents.
Dead, she'd told him and he'd felt relieved. At least they didn't give him away because they didn't want him. He'd asked his mum to tell him everything she knew about them, these people he'd never heard of who turned out to be the most important people in his life.
"Your dad was an engineer," she'd said. "With BT, I think."
"And my mum?" he'd asked eagerly, but she'd just shrugged.
Had she been lying, or
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