The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [71]
“Because it was necessary. Or did you think I would send him into the field on a whim?”
Mo’s control slips for a second: her glare is hot enough to ignite paper.
“I’m sorry,” he adds heavily. “But this was an unscheduled emergency, and Bob was the only suitable agent who was available at short notice.”
“Really?” She glances at the black velvet cloth covering the files on his desk. “I know all about your little tricks,” she warns. “In case you’d forgotten.”
Angleton shrugs uncomfortably. “How could I? You’re perfectly right, and we owe you a considerable debt of gratitude for your cooperation in that particular incident. But nevertheless—” he stares at the wall beside her chair, a white-painted rectangle that doubles as a projector screen “—we are confronted with AZORIAN BLUE HADES, and Bob is the only field-certified executive who is both competent to deal with the matter and sufficiently ignorant to be able to, ah, play the role with conviction. You, my dear, couldn’t do this particular job, you’re too well-informed, leaving aside all the other aspects of the affair. The same goes for myself, or for Andrew, or for Davidson, or Fawcett, or any of a number of other assets Human Resources identified as preliminary candidates during the search phase of the operation. And while we have plenty of other staff who are not cleared for AZORIAN BLUE HADES, most of them are insufficiently prepared to meet its challenges.”
“Nevertheless.” Mo’s hand closes on the neck of her case. “I’m warning you, Angleton. I know you entangled Bob with a Black Chamber assassin and I know what the consequences are. I know that unless someone collapses their superposition within about half a million seconds, he’s not coming back, at least not as himself. And I’m not putting up with the usual excuses—‘he was the only round peg we had that fit that particular hole, it was in the interests of national security’—you’d better see he comes back alive and in one body. Or I am going to the Auditors.”
Angleton eyes her warily. O’Brien is one of very few people in the organization who would make such a threat, and one of even fewer who might actually follow through on it. “I do not believe that will be necessary,” he says slowly. “As it happens, I agreed to your request for a meeting because I intended to tap you for the next phase. Contrary to the impression you may have received, I don’t consider Bob to be an expendable asset. But I believe you’re allowing your relationship with him to color your perceptions of the risk inherent in the situation. I assume you’d be willing to help bring him back safe and sound?”
Mo nods sharply. “You know I would.”
“Good.” Angleton glances at the door, then frowns. “I do believe Alan’s late. That’s not like him.”
“Alan? Alan Barnes?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want him for?”
Angleton snorts. “A moment ago you were getting uptight about your boyfriend’s security. Now you’re asking why I asked Captain Barnes—”
The door bursts open, admitting a wiry pint-sized tornado. “Ah, the fragrant Professor O’Brien! How you doing, Mo? And you, you old bat. What do you want now?” The force of nature grins widely. With his owlishly large glasses, leather-patched tweed jacket, and expanding bald spot he could pass for a schoolteacher—if schoolteachers habitually wore shoulder holsters.
Angleton pushes his spectacles up on his nose. “I was explaining to Professor O’Brien that I’ve got a little job for you. Bob’s accepted the starring role in the approach plan for AZORIAN BLUE HADES and now it’s time to set up the payoff. Not unnaturally, Mo has expressed certain reservations about the way the project has been conducted to date. I believe that, in view of her special skills, she can make a valuable contribution to the operation. What do you think?”
While Barnes is considering the question, Mo glances between the two of them. “This is a setup!”
Barnes grins at her: “Of course