Darke Mission by Scott Caladon Page A

itself. It was only about ten miles away, so under twenty minutes for her to drive to Cally’s. She was looking forward to having a night out with her friend. Neither of them had boyfriends, their jobs at the NGA took up nearly all their awake time, and they had been so absorbed by the whole Borei story that they hadn’t had any free time for what seemed like weeks.
    Dannielle’s original surname was Kulikova. She was born in a Moscow suburb to a doctor dad and a housewife mum. Her father had felt that the Putin regime was becoming unfriendly and more claustrophobic for even middleclass families. He opted to revitalise the family’s life in the USA. Dannielle had a younger brother, Arkady, and they all packed up and went to New York. Dad got a job in the New York Presbyterian Hospital, Mum looked after everybody and in late 1999 Dannielle and Arkady enrolled in the Abraham Lincoln High School. That was about fourteen or fifteen years ago, and her life had been at full pelt ever since. The family name was changed to Eagles, she went to university, became a US citizen, then the CIA, and now the NGA. Given her Russian origins, the CIA checks were particularly extensive but no worries, her entire family were clean and un-indoctrinated. Like Carolyn, she loved her job at the NGA and she had become closer to her friend the longer they worked together.
    â€œHi Cally,” said Dannielle as she strode into The Lounge looking very tall with her killer heels on.
    â€œHi Dannielle,” Carolyn replied. “I’ve been here less than five minutes and I’m starving so I’ve ordered a Bud Light and a double cheeseburger. Will I order you something?” she asked, clearly pleased to see her friend.
    â€œI’ll have a Bud Light too, and some ribs, medium-rare,” Dannielle said to the waitress as she sat down opposite Carolyn.
    â€œI don’t know how you stay so slim, Cally, given that your eating habits are those of a pig,” jested Dannielle.
    â€œIt’s the Celtic genes, Ruski,” Carolyn spiked back. “Or maybe the two hours in the gym or out running I do every morning or the fact that big meals are few and far between in our jobs. Anyway, you’re no heffalump yourself and you’re more or less having the same as me!”
    â€œMust be the Russian training camps,” said Dannielle. “I was just checking the mood you were in. Heard anything from Henry?”
    â€œNo,” said Carolyn slightly less bubbly. “At the last count Kermit still said no. Henry sent him another email but the SEAL knucklehead was adamant. No girls on tour. Jeez how that winds me up.”
    â€œNever mind Cally, tuck into your burger and fries and let the comfort food do its work!”
    They clinked their Bud glasses and Dannielle was now also tucking in. Their conversation was continuous, their laughter loud and the music lively. The two attractive women were hit on by a couple of the locals and it was difficult to judge which of them had the better fixed stare which said ‘on your bike’.
    It was 10.20pm now, not late for two twenty-five year old civilians, but getting on for NGA officers who likely had a full day ahead. As Dannielle was sorting out her black leather clutch bag she noticed her smartphone was vibrating and flashing away.
    â€œDannielle, is that you? Is Reynolds with you?” It was Henry Michieta.
    â€œYes, it’s me and yes she is,” said Dannielle.
    â€œI’ve been ringing for ages. Where the hell are you? It sounds like a karaoke club on full blast, I can barely hear you,” moaned Henry.
    â€œI’ll step out for a second,” Dannielle indicated to Carolyn that she was just going outside of the restaurant to take the call. Carolyn nodded.
    â€œOK Henry, is that better, what’s up?”
    â€œDo you want the good news or the bad news?” asked Henry, who often, mistakenly, thought he was funny.
    â€œAlways