Free Severe Clear by Stuart Woods

turned to find her boss standing in her doorway. “Yes, ma’am,” Holly said. “I’m ready to go to work.”
    “That’s good, because you’re headed to London tonight.”
    “I am?” Lance rarely sent her anywhere.
    Kate made herself comfortable on Holly’s sofa, and Holly joined her, bringing along a pad.
    “We have an operative in Europe that you and Lance don’t know about. He has always communicated with me through what is now your office. I’ve sent him a message to expect you tomorrow, and he’ll call you on your cell phone after you’ve landed.”
    “All right. Who is he?”
    “His birth name was Ari Shazaz,” Kate said, “but his passport is British, in the name of Hamish McCallister. He was born in Syria to an Algerian father and a Scottish mother. He’s in his early forties, and you will find him to be impeccably British—Eton, Oxford, White’s, the Garrick Club, etcetera. At school and university he was known as McCallister, his mother’s maiden name. His father died when he was eight or nine, and she took him to London to bring up. She’s from landed gentry—they own an island off the west coast of Scotland, appropriately called Murk.
    “Hamish is fluent in Arabic and Urdu along with French and Italian. After university, he worked in a family-owned bank, doing business in the Middle East and on the continent. He has earned his living for the past ten years as a weekly columnist for the Guardsman , a leftish London paper, and he writes the occasional penetrating article for some magazine or other on things like Arab-Israeli relations.”
    Grace appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mrs. Lee, but I have Ms. Barker’s new credentials.”
    “Come in, Grace,” Kate said.
    Grace opened a large envelope and shook out the contents onto the coffee table. “First, may I have your old credentials, please? Your Agency ID, your passport, your gate and building pass, and your iPhone and BlackBerry.”
    Holly fetched her purse and produced those items.
    Grace handed her a new Agency ID and a plastic card that would allow entry through both the main gate and the Agency’s front entrance. “That card will also work at any American embassy or consulate abroad. You now have a full diplomatic passport,” she said, handing over the document. “Please sign here.” She held the passport in place while Holly signed it. “Here’s another card to keep with you,” she said, handing over another piece of plastic. “It states that you are a federal agent and licensed to carry firearms anywhere in the United States and its territories and possessions. It can also be useful with foreign police, though it carries no official weight abroad. Here are your new American Express card and Visa and MasterCards. You may use them for all official expenditures and you may withdraw funds from any ATM in the world with no daily limit. Your PIN number is the last four digits of your Agency employee number.”
    Holly picked up the American Express card, which was black. “It seems to be made of titanium,” she said.
    “Yes, it’s called the Centurion card. Here’s a packet listing the various benefits and services accruing to it, including a travel agent. Here’s something else made of titanium,” she said, handing Holly a small, light semiautomatic pistol. “It was designed and developed by the Agency and is currently in use by only high-level officers. It will later be issued to all those expected to travel armed.” Grace handed her a box. “Here is a shoulder holster and a belt holster for your use, as well as a box of nine-millimeter ammunition, four magazines, and a small but very effective silencer. You should familiarize yourself with the pistol on the range as soon as possible.”
    Grace also handed her two new phones. “This iPhone and this BlackBerry already contain all the information in your old phones. They contain a GPS chip not found in commercial phones, which allows the Agency to track you