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in advertising, prided himself on his populist tastes. He bought pints and a packet of crisps and asked her about her administrative job at the Foreign Office, how it was going, where she’d traveled to. He knew her just well enough to tell that something was wrong, and he probed a little, but she answered vaguely, turning the conversation back to him, and after a while they walked back home and said goodnight.
    On the Monday, she wore a gray suit and flats, pulled her hair back into a tight bun, as she had worn it under her beret in the army. She got into VX early, sat in her cubicle drinking coffee, composing herself. The board convened at nine-thirty. Patterson was shown in to a fifth-floor conference room and found herself facing Mobbs, the Director, Requirements and Production, his dark suit, a tie of primary colors verging on the frivolous, as if to emphasize by contrast the vulpine features, the aquiline nose, deep-set eyes, the whiff of mercilessness to him. Next to him, Hopko, in a billowing pink silk scarf, silver hoops in her ears, her dark hair full, teased. She looked up, wrinkled her nose and smiled. Next to her, Mika Bastable of Human Resources, known throughout the Service as Bust-your-balls, a tall, sculpted woman, younger, who had come to the Service from a corporation. Fine detailing, thought Patterson: highlights, lip gloss, manicure. She looked expensive, and by comparison Patterson felt dowdy, reduced.
    “We have read the encounter report,” said Mobbs, patting a file in front of him. Patterson nodded, sat straighter.
    “This was the first time you had encountered CAMBER , correct?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Do you feel you were adequately prepared for the meeting?”
    “I was as well prepared as I could be, given the circumstances.”
    “That’s not the same as adequately prepared, is it?”
    “I was adequately prepared.”
    “You informed CAMBER of his egress procedures should the meeting be interrupted?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t he follow them?”
    “I can’t answer that, sir. I don’t know.”
    Mobbs opened the file, scanned the page.
    “He left the flat all right. He found the lifts, all well and good, down he goes to the MTR station, but then he goes to the wrong platform. Our blokes can’t find him. Why the blazes does he do that?”
    “I don’t know, sir.”
    “Perhaps you got it wrong. You told him to go to the wrong platform.”
    “Absolutely not, sir. I told him to take a train to Admiralty. Which was correct.”
    “And then he’s dead. Police say he jumped. Did he?”
    “He was panicked, very frightened. He thought he was blown. I could see him deciding to… do something drastic.”
    Mobbs looked at her.
    “Then why didn’t you calm him down, reassure him, for God’s sake? Why’d he leave the meeting worse off than when he went in? That’s not what we do, is it? Let our agents run off in a panic.”
    Patterson swallowed, took a breath. Stay calm, she thought.
    “I was in the process of talking him down. I needed to establish if he was blown. I was questioning him when the signal came through, and we had to go to emergency procedures.”
    “I think you lost control. CAMBER didn’t listen to you.”
    “That is not the case, sir. The meeting was compromised at a crucial moment and I put emergency procedures into effect.”
    “Well, there’s a corpse says it
is
the case.”
    “That’s unfair,” said Hopko, bluntly. “ CAMBER had emergency procedures. He elected not to follow them. Agents, on occasion, make idiotic decisions. All on their own.”
    A pause, as Mobbs appeared to contemplate being lectured by his subordinate.
    Bastable of Human Resources spoke.
    “What we are trying to ascertain here…”
    She turned over a page, slowly, let the silence hang for a beat.
    “… is whether you mishandled this meeting, and, by extension, whether you are adequately equipped to continue in your present role in operations.”
    Equipped?
    “One can’t help but