Private Wars Read Online Free PDF Page A

damage.
    But only slightly.
    From the MCO Desk, Bill Teagle uttered a small cry of triumph. “Signal, sir! Audio only, but better than nothing.”
    “Let’s hear it.”
    There was a shriek of static from the speakers on the plasma wall, and then the voice of Andrew Fincher, Minder One, came through, choppy and littered with squeaks and pops from the satellite. Crocker could make out the sound of Fincher’s movement, the rustle of his clothing beneath his words.
    “—on approach now . . . see lights on the second floor, no signs of movement . . . hold on . . .”
    Crocker’s scowl deepened. It might have been the radio and the patch, but to his ears, Fincher sounded beyond nervous. When he glanced to Seale, now standing beside him, he saw from the other man’s expression that he’d heard the same thing.
    There was another crackle, then Minder Two’s voice, as Poole transmitted.
“Songbird, this is Nightowl. We’re at stage one, taking position, please stand by.”
    “Nightowl, Songbird. Confirmed. Let’s make this fast, right? I’ve got a bad feeling here. I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to.”
    “Songbird, understood. Moving to position one, stand by.”
    Silence from the radios.
    “Your man Fincher sounds like he’s about three steps ahead of panic,” Seale murmured softly. “You want to tell me why he’s taking the lead and not Poole?”
    “Fincher’s Minder One, he worked as the KL Number Two before coming into the Special Section. He knows the ground.”
    “Four years ago he knew the ground. Poole’s ex-SAS, he knows the drill.”
    “Which is why Poole’s the liaison with the brick and not Fincher.”
    “Yeah, but Fincher—”
    “I don’t have anyone else, Julian,” Crocker snapped. “Lankford’s in Gibraltar, and Fincher is Head of Section. If it was KL, I had to send Fincher with Poole. I couldn’t hold him here in reserve.”
    From the corner of his eye, Crocker saw Seale frowning at him.
    “Fincher’s a tool, Paul,” Seale said. “You can hear it in his voice—he’s not made for this.”
    Crocker didn’t respond, instead fishing out his lighter and finally giving flame to the cigarette that had been waiting for the last three minutes. The fact was, he agreed with Seale, not that Fincher was a “tool” per se, but that he was wrong for the job.
    A year and a half ago, after Chace had left, Crocker had scrambled to find a replacement, spending six weeks poring through personnel files. The traditional method of advancement among the Minders was promotion through attrition; Minder Three became Minder Two as Minder Two became Minder One and on and on, each agent replacing the next as his or her predecessor was promoted out of the Section, retired, or perished. The problem was that when Chace departed, she’d taken the lion’s share of operational experience with her. When she’d left, Poole had just under a year as a Minder, and Lankford less than half that.
    Under those circumstances, Crocker had been unable, and in fact unwilling, to promote either of the remaining Minders. They simply didn’t have enough experience, let alone enough seniority.
    It was Weldon who’d proposed Fincher, and it had been the second time the former Deputy Chief had tried to get Crocker to take the man into the section. The first time, Crocker still had Tom Wallace as Minder One, and Chace as Minder Two, and it had been a relatively simple matter to find an agent in training at the School who wanted to join the Special Section. This time, though, the board had shifted to Weldon’s favor, and Crocker had found himself powerless to block the move. SIS employed roughly two thousand officers, and of those two thousand, very few had what it took to be a Minder. To Crocker’s eyes, that included Fincher.
    There was simply nobody else, and with the Deputy Chief championing him to C, Crocker had been left with no other choice but to accept Fincher as his new Head of Section.
    It