Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [87]
Crowley began to respond, but fell silent.
“I might also say,” Thomas added, “that the leaks coming out of Amman are enough to sink the Queen Mary II.”
Many thoughts ran through Crowley’s mind. If he was being made a scapegoat, it wouldn’t be the first time. It occurred to him that the three intelligence agencies represented in this faux Louis XVI room were competing with one another for dominance, or at least for the most slaps on the back. He found it distasteful, at best. Terrorists were out there planning to kill as many non-Muslims as possible, and here they were, men jockeying for political position and kudos. Thomas, his boss at the Foreign Service, was not a man to take criticism with aplomb, Crowley had learned over the years. Of course! Crowley thought. Thomas, and the British intelligence services he represented, had been made to look, at best, inept. How handy for Thomas to have Crowley on hand to take the blame in front of his bosses’ counterparts. The Canadian, Jones, was cheeky to sit there and claim success. From what Crowley knew, the Canadians had squandered much of their counterintelligence resources worrying about foreign governments spying on Canadian industry, money obviously of a higher priority than lives. Bastards! How dare they subject me to such embarrassment? I’ve given the best years of my life to the fugging Foreign Service, and have done a damn fine job, to boot.
A vision of the cottage in Dorset came and went.
“You’ve lost two of your so-called sources in Amman,” Thomas said. “Obviously the enemy knows only too well what’s going on within your operation
“Two?” Crowley said.
“You haven’t heard, Crowley?” Thomas said. He was showboating, performing for the others’ benefit. “Your man, Steamer—I believe that was what he was called—got it in the neck, in a manner of speaking
“I didn’t know,” Crowley said. “I’ve been here and…” His stomach churned at the thought of the big Brit with the code name “Steamer” no longer being alive.
Thomas’ sigh was loud and said much.
“If I might, I’d like to narrow down this conversation to some pertinent matters in these intercepts,” Jones said, removing his glasses and leaning toward Crowley. “Mr. Crowley, as you read, it seems that the terrorists—presumably led by al-Qaeda, although that’s not set in stone—intend to press forward with their plans to assassinate political leaders. It’s my understanding that you had said as much in briefings you’ve given Mr. Browning and Mr. Thomas
“It was only, as Mr. Thomas said, hinted at. Attempts were made to gather more specific information but—”
“You might be interested in this, Crowley,” Thomas said, handing his subordinate another piece of paper.
Crowley read it, quickly this time, and handed it back. “The same intent, a different target,” he said.
“The question is,” Jones said, “whether anything your sources in Amman told you might have forecast such a shift in their targeting
“No, nothing
“You can understand my government’s interest in this shift, which we’ve gotten through intercepts—the terrorists’ chatter, as it were,” said Jones.
“Of course,” Crowley agreed. The paper he’d just read indicated that rather than attempt the assassination of American political figures, the emphasis would now be on Canadian and British leaders.
“I might echo what my distinguished friend from Canada has just said,” Thomas intoned. “We’re now talking about terrorism on our home front, Crowley. The stakes have been raised considerably
Why? Crowley wondered. Were Canadian and British leaders more important than Americans? They were, of course, to those charged with protecting them. But in the larger scheme of things?
Besides, he thought, putting so much credence in the babble of Arab terrorists was misguided. If al-Qaeda knew that the Americans had been alerted to their plans to assassinate their top political figures, it would