Page 56 of At the Crossroads

“Doesn’t have to be. Up to Cress, really. She has the final veto.” Max leans down and kisses my cheek. We don’t really have time to explore on this trip, so we’ll come back in a few months, to go house hunting. I always thought I’d like to be in Bloomsbury or Fitzrovia, but lately I’ve been more open to possibilities and Islington has always intrigued me, so Clerkenwell may perfect.

“We’re tired.” Viktoria makes the announcement loudly. “Going up now. À bientôt. I assume everyone has the schedule.”

I turn to Max. “Schedule?”

“I have it.” He pulls it out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “Mum gave it to me in the cab. Go on up and give it a shufti. Whatever she has planned, tomorrow will be a busy day.”

“Aren’t you coming up too?”

“In a few minutes. Frank wants a word.” He wades back into the press of family, and I straggle over to the elevators. I stand by the doors, staring back at him, but he never turns toward me. Finally, the doors open, and I go up to bed.

* * *

Max

Frank leans on the reception desk. When I approach, he motions me toward the lounge. Ensconced in club chairs, we sip whisky and exchange a few bits of family gossip. Then I lean forward and pin my brother with a hard stare.

“It’s late, Frank. Do you need a little brotherly bonding, or is it something more serious?”

He drops his eyes to his glass, swirls the liquid, then downs the whole thing, choking slightly as the peaty Laphroig catches.

I sit back and take a sip of the Balvenie Portwood on offer. A nutty dryness offsets slight sweetness from aging, making it much smoother than the smoke aggressiveness of my brother’s drink. It brings back memories of Cress’ book signing last year, when I first made contact, twenty years after our first encounter at Oxford.

Going to that bookstore was one of the best decisions of my life. The oysters at Rules this evening remind me we need to recreate the mussel dinner at Hopleaf we shared after the signing. But this time, the two of us instead of with her friends.

Frank taps his glass to attract my attention. “Max, I’m worried.”

He can’t be asking me about his kids. Even though I’m a fond uncle, I know fuck all about raising children. Is he having marital issues? Not much experience there either. Must be something about Mum and Dad. Cautiously, I ask, “What about?”

“You.”

That’s a bit of a beamer. “What for?”

“RAF intelligence has been hearing some chatter and your code name came up. I wanted to pass that along in case you didn’t already know.”

My face tightens and heat runs up my neck. This bloody news is everywhere. Doesn’t say much about the terrorists having secure communications. Or the RAF.

“You’re not in fucking intelligence, Frank. Who told you?”

“I have a mate—”

“Balls. It’s a breach of security. Your mate had no business passing on anything.”

Frank’s face flames as his mouth tightens. “Fuck you, Max. He was trying to help a pal. Worrying a mate’s brother might be a terrorist target. Wanting to make sure you know.” He wipes his hand over his face. “It’s no secret how things fell out with MI6, so he had every reason to believe they wouldn’t warn you.”

My mouth dries and I wish I had a glass of water, but the whisky will have to do. Shaky, I pick up my glass and swallow the dregs. “Another reason to keep quiet. The RAF could cashier your pal if his superiors find out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Frank regards me anxiously. “I owe him big time so, uh, don’t…”

“I have no intention of tipping off RAF intelligence,” I tell him drily. “I’ve heard from the NASA, the CIA, MI6, and even received a warning packet of white powder sent me from Turkey.”

Frank’s eyes grow wide. Guess he hadn’t heard that tidbit.

“I’m big news in the intelligence world. Ian has been trying to weasel info out of me, so the Foreign Office has all the same intel.”

“Now I’m even more worried.”

“Everyone in the world is looking for this bloke. It’s a matter of time.” I don’t tell him about the cat-and-mouse game MI6 want to play, with me as the cheese. Instead, I contemplate my empty glass. “More?”

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