Free Shadow Agenda: An Action Suspense Thriller by Sam Powers Page A

be reliable, but he is effective. We have that at least.”
    The director had always been an optimist; it was part of his nature, part of the reason he could build bridges between parties, find consensus. Fenton-Wright considered him weak for it but knew eventually he’d get his chance. Wilkie couldn’t hang on forever.
    “Yes, well, that doesn’t change the fact that he undermined the authority of everyone in a senior position within the agency,” Fenton-Wright said. “I don’t want him back any time soon.”
    “If we let him go…”
    “We’ll have an association grievance to deal with; and he’s popular with some. There’s always a chance that cutting him loose could jeopardize the situation’s deniability. But if we just leave him on indefinite leave and he collects his paycheck, there is that much more pressure on him to honor his national security obligation.”
    Wilkie thought about it. There were worse fates, he supposed, than being on permanent vacation. And Brennan had a reputation for being honorable. “If we must, it should suffice. What about the other matter I forwarded -- the European file?”
    Fenton-Wright nodded as if familiar. In truth, he’d barely glanced at the details. A U.S. agent under deep cover on an ally’s turf codenamed Fawkes had made a rare information drop; it was the first time he’d even been heard from in sixteen years. But despite the agent’s profile and track record, the details seemed out-of-the-blue at best, Wilkie had said, allegations that a respected business group based in France had a hand in an African insurgency a few years earlier. Given Fawkes’ importance long ago, when the Cold War was at its peak, it had to be treated seriously, even if the few who knew of him doubted he was still reliable.
    “It’s under review,” he replied tactfully. “Our man is attempting to gain access to more information via those same connections. If there’s any more to it, he’ll attempt to offer himself up as a valuable political commodity, see how the business cabal reacts. His understanding is that it just lost a member.”
    Wilkie frowned. “Are you sure that’s the best approach, David? We’re talking about someone who has been in deep sleep; the embarrassment if he was exposed, both to him and to our British colleagues…”
    “I realize that, director,” Fenton-Wright said. “But we have little choice. And we have the added benefit of his social stature; were he caught, he could always claim he was acting on behalf of Queen and country, independent of their security services.”
    “Aren’t we risking the possibility that he’s working with MI6, trying to embarrass us, compromise us and put us in a position where we owe them a rather larger favor? He’s been ingrained into high society there for decades. He hasn’t been a regular contributor since the seventies. It seems exceptionally strange that he’d come out of the woodwork now; he must be nearly eighty.”
    Fenton-Wright smiled ruefully. “Seventy-seven. With respect, director, it won’t be that long for either of us…”
    “Yes,” Wilkie said, “but I don’t expect either of us will still be here. Keep a lid on him, David. Make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces.”
     
     
     
     
    Brennan had agreed to meet Walter at a small bar off Eighteenth Street, a brew pub run by Czech immigrants who made Lang’s favorite draft. Brennan hated driving into D.C., leaving Carolyn and the kids alone in Annandale for the afternoon just so that Walter could tell him what he already knew or suspected: that he wasn’t going back to work any time soon.
    The pub was near-empty, the lunch crowd having already left. The U-shaped wooden bar was next to the entrance as Brennan walked in. There were a couple of regulars still hanging around; a weathered looking man in a flat cap was chewing a toothpick; a younger guy with dark mutton chops sat talking to the barkeep; the  sturdy-looking guy with short blond