Free The Coil by Gayle Lynds Page B

reason. The zealousness I saw out there tonight was a wake-up call. Viera used violence to get attention for her group’s grievances, and by morning, they’ll see the headlines and know her sacrifice worked. It scares the piss out of me to think what would happen if every antiglobalization group figured that out and started to act on it. It wouldn’t be long before they’d redirect their violence away from themselves and against the people they hold responsible for their problems. Then what happens if they actually figure out a way to work and plan together? If they unite, it could get worse than the sixties, and that almost tore apart Europe and the United States.”
    She shook her head angrily. “You’re exaggerating. Those people are too weak, too happy to think of themselves as victims. Besides, existing institutions like the IMF and World Bank are one hell of a lot better equipped to deal with poverty and the world’s other problems than the whining adults and ignorant kids we saw screaming and yelling out there tonight. If your agitators haven’t convinced me, they sure won’t convince many others either. So what if they nab a few headlines? They’re still singing to the choir.”
    â€œThat choir, as you call them, could explode. One should never underestimate the potential of the underdog. Especially if the underdog feels cornered.”
    She turned to face him. He did not like the look in her eyes. Her voice was arctic. “You excuse what you did by bringing me information. That’s all smoke screen for your fucking up. I’ve sent my people to check the media film that was shot tonight. It’s inevitable some of the photographers and camera people recorded you. I’ll have to tap my contacts, which I don’t like to do on something that should never have happened in the first place.” She made a weary sound in her throat. “Even if I manage to find every scrap of film and get it scrubbed, remember you were protected only going into the embassy. It’s possible somebody there saw you sneak outdoors and then co-star in the riot. With so much press coverage, any witnesses will likely wonder about you. You’re sloppy, Simon.”
    â€œI do my job.”
    â€œThat’s the problem. It’s just a job to you. You like to pretend your work means something, but the truth is you treat it like a shell game. You haven’t a real opinion about what these people you’ve been informing on for the past three years are doing. You don’t think they’re right or wrong. You don’t think our government is either. Where’s the real Simon Childs? Where’s he hiding?”
    God, she was annoying. “I care about Britain. I should think that’d be enough for you. Do you have anything else you wish to discuss?” Thinking about loyalty and Britain brought a dull ache to his chest, the same pain he associated with his father’s death. Sir Robert Childs had been almost a national institution—member of parliament, beloved leftist, and respected by the other side of the aisle. Like Viera, he had died by his own hand. Simon had investigated thoroughly at the time, but he had been unable to find even a suggestion his father’s death was anything but a suicide.
    He kept his face neutral as he resisted the urge to look at his watch. He did not want to be late to the meeting with the nameless person who had written that note.
    Ada Jackson fired up the car’s engine. “I want a full report of everything you saw and your conclusions. I’ll expect it at the bridge drop by eight A.M . The media’s going to be sniffing for details about Viera and her life—the more intimate, the more spicy and gory, the better. Tell your friend Johann that you’re so distraught that you’re taking some time off. He’ll spread the word, and the press will pick it up. I’ll have a safe house lined up