The Virtuosic Spy 01 - Deceptive Cadence Read Online Free PDF Page A

fraud—which ended your engagement and your career in music and which made you essentially a serf on your own land—was a subject of concern to very few beyond yourself. They made a token attempt to find your brother, but neither the authorities in Brussels nor Ireland were much interested. They had you to foot the bill, and they had other fish to fry—committee members taking bribes, that sort of thing. How much did it end up costing you?”
    “With the fines and legal fees, over a quarter million,” Conor said.
    Frank whistled, and after a brief pause, he continued. “At any rate, about eight months ago, Thomas became rather more interesting when someone at the EU—no doubt one of those tiresome auditor chaps who enjoy such minutiae—had another look at the documentation and noticed the grant payment had been wired to a bank account in Belfast. Rather suspicious, that, thinks the auditor chap, since neither Thomas nor his farm were anywhere near Belfast. The information got passed on to the Irish authorities, who confirmed the bank as one with historical connections to the IRA.”
    Cursing internally, Conor poured the rest of the bottle of mineral water into his glass and drank it. He wiped his mouth, ran a hand through his hair, and lit another cigarette. After drawing deeply on it, he rested it against the ashtray and began flicking his thumbnail against the filter tip. The nervous gesture did not pass unnoticed.
    “Perhaps you’d care to have a brandy or a whiskey?” Frank asked.
    “Yeah, whatever.”
    His eyes wandered to the votive candle next to the ashtray and fixed on it. Inside its glass chimney, the flame burned straight and motionless, as if frozen. He no longer heard the quiet hum of conversation around him or the rain slapping against the windows. When the whiskey appeared at his elbow, he barely noticed it.
    He’d been reluctant about coming here for this story, and now more than ever, he didn’t want to hear it. He continued staring into the candlelight, his mind searching for an avenue of escape and telling himself it wasn’t too late. He could demand that Frank stop, or he could leave London, pretending not to have understood any of it. He might persuade himself that it was the right decision and that there was nothing he could have done.
    Conor finally noticed the older man’s silence and looked up. Apparently, there was no need to think of ways for stopping him. The story had reached its natural tipping point, and Frank’s eyes had shifted, their sympathy displaced by professional appraisal. For the first time, he felt the full impact of an intelligence officer’s cold-blooded stare.
    “It’s time to decide, Conor,” Frank said evenly. “You can finish your drink now and bid me a fond farewell. I won’t try to stop you. If you choose to stay, however, I will take that decision to mean commitment. You’ll be making it without understanding what will be asked of you. It is neither comfortable nor fair, but there it is: commitment nonetheless. I warn you now that I shall take it very seriously.”
    They watched each other warily, until at last Conor shifted in his chair. “Go on with the rest of it,” he said.
    “Are you quite certain?”
    “Of course I’m not ‘quite certain,’” he snapped, shattering the spell of Frank’s scrutiny. “The only thing I’m certain of is that it’s not up to me. I have no decision to make. So, let’s you and I stop pretending that I do and get on with it. Tell me the rest. It’s what you brought me here for, isn’t it? Tell me what’s going on and then what the fuck you expect me to do.”
    Frank removed a document from his inside pocket, unfolded it, and placed it before Conor with a fountain pen on top. “The Official Secrets Act. You need to sign it before we continue. Take a few minutes to read it over, if you like.”
    Conor impatiently skimmed through the document. “How does this apply to me? I’m not a Crown servant or