slumber party

“And this is the senior under secretary for agricultural exports of the Soviet Union.” Daniel said, as the projector showed the picture he had shot two nights ago.

They were in a room, deep in the bowels of the U.S embassy in Grosvenor square. It was soundproof and Daniel had heard it was also treated to stop electronic eavesdropping. The Brits had a similar thing, it was called whispering in each others ear in a room with music playing very loudly. It was simple, but effective.

There was a single man opposite Daniel and Red; the London station chief of the CIA, the only person the two had been allowed to speak to about their ongoing work.

“How long did they spend together?” he said across the table.

Daniel coughed awkwardly before replying. “The, ah, the um, whole night sir.”

There was a pause.

“You’re saying what I think you’re saying?”

Daniel shuffled awkwardly, then before he could answer, Red jumped in.

“He’s gay Cord and I’m not talking the happy kind.”

“So the head of MI6 spent the night in bed with the senior under secretary for agricultural exports of the Soviet Union?”

Red and Daniel nodded silently.

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