Free The Virtuosic Spy 01 - Deceptive Cadence by Kathryn Guare Page A

ticket, too. Nothing but the best for the rookies.”
    “We needed the extra money for your laptop.” Frank gave him an arch smile. “Let’s go have a drink.”
    “At nine o’clock in the morning?”
    “My dear boy, this is Heathrow. It is never any particular time of day here.”
    It wasn’t the first time Conor had nursed a beer before noon, and as they sat surrounded by the general tumult of a population in transit, he appreciated the symbolic truth of Frank’s statement. The duty-free zone was a municipality unto itself where the natural progression of day into night existed only in theory. Immersed in the bright, unblinking atmosphere of perpetual commerce, its temporary citizens were left to decide for themselves which time zone best suited their needs. Their self-selected position in the twenty-four hour rotation was most notably evidenced by their menu selections, and Conor was intrigued that the demand for eggs and toast seemed evenly matched against that of sushi and white wine.
    “I brought you a bon voyage gift.” Frank reached into his briefcase and handed over a brown bag with a smaller plastic one inside it. “A mixture of Chinese herbs. Mix them with hot water, and they serve as a wonderful sleep aid. Perfect for long plane rides.”
    Conor took a drag at his cigarette and squinted through the smoke at what looked to be a small bag of dirt. “Jayz, what a great gift. I’m touched. Really. I’ll be sure to bring you back something nice as well. What do you fancy? Some powdered elephant tusk, maybe? Sprinkle it on your oatmeal?”
    Frank lightly braced his hands against the counter and laughed—not a phony, pedantic warble but a spontaneous, honest-to-God guffaw. It was a good sound. It made Conor laugh too, and he found himself wishing he had more time to spend with this cagey cipher who had thoroughly upended the natural order of his life. Maybe if they could get good and drunk together, some of the secrets might start to spill. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of the interior man. Maybe they’d even get to be friends.
    Not enough time for it today, though. His gate number would appear on the screen in another ten minutes. He flexed his foot up and down on the rung of the bar stool and stared up at the screen, conflicted between wanting the wait to be over and wanting the clock to stop. He glanced again at his watch.
    “Nervous?” Frank asked, looking not at Conor but at the surrounding scene, as though watching a passably interesting piece of theatre. In contrast, and as usual, he was the very image of relaxed enjoyment, sipping from his drink with leisurely pleasure.
    Another droll remark leapt to the tip of his tongue, but before he got it out, Conor changed his mind. He took a swallow of Guinness and nodded. “I am, yeah. Any last words of wisdom for me? To be honest, I feel like I could use a few.”
    “None that would be of any practical use, I’m afraid,” Frank said. “But since my first gift was found lacking, let’s see if this suits better.” He took a small felt pouch from his pocket and slid it along the bar.
    “Looks a little more promising.” Conor picked up the pouch and spilled the contents into the palm of his hand. His eyes widened as he recognized what he was holding—a circle of black silk cord with St. Brigid’s Cross hanging from it.
    “ Nach álainn é !” In his surprise, he uttered the exclamation in Irish and smiled in bemusement. “Sorry. What I meant to say was it’s lovely.”
    “ Tuigim go maith ,” Frank replied, gently. “I understand you perfectly.”
    Conor gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s right, I’d forgotten—the fella from Kildare. You’re a man of many parts, Frank. I can’t make you out at all. Quite the character.” His face grew thoughtful and remote. “My mother’s name is Brigid,” he added in a low voice.
    “I remember,” said Frank. “An impressive woman.”
    “She was fairly impressed with you as well.