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There had been leaks from every Administration since the Revolution. But just having Charlie Fisk's FBI snoopers around was unsettling. She calmed herself by considering the fact that half the counterintelligence coups in history were the result of blind luck. It was fortunate for spies and traitors, she thought, that the media never stopped trying to unearth government secrets. It was possible to blame journalists for almost anything. |
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"Tell me about Neville's lawyer," Marina said. |
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Fair enough, Camilla thought. Marina and her Service were hungry and must be fed. Judiciously, but cautiously, until I am sure how much she already knows. This game is dangerous but exhilarating. "His name is Pierre Grau," Camilla said, spinning the sherry glass by the stem. |
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"I already know his name." |
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Yes, Camilla thought, now we are on the same page. |
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"It is highly classified information," she said, giving the glass one more spin. |
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"Have you ever doubted my generosity?" Marina asked. "What do you need? Do you want this coat?" She stroked the sleeve suggestively. |
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Camilla treated the offer as if it were a joke. Only a stupid woman would consider a sable coat proper payment to an informant instead of its value in money; only a fool would accept it. "Those at my salary level do not wear coats of that quality, dear one," she said. |
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"What a great pity. I have more coats than money," Marina said, smiling brilliantly. |
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She is beautiful, Camilla thought with a sexual chill. That black, raven's wing hair. Eyes like gemstones, just as cold. Skin smooth as velvet. And a delightful ambiguity in her sexual preferences. All this, and a brain, too. I must be careful what I say and how I say it. |
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She said, confidentially, "Colonel Morgan is to deliver a message to Pierre Grau from your United Nations ambassador, Nathan Abramov." |
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