Jessica set great store by her instincts, and her instinct was telling her Anderson was one of the good guys. Despite Charlotte’s outward reserve, she clearly like him and Jessica wanted to help things along if she could. If it all came to nothing, then at least she’d tried; not that Anderson seemed the ideal suitor, his unclear job description and vivid imagination perhaps indicating an uncertain future. Jessica still couldn’t believe that her husband had been murdered but that she was content to follow Anderson’s lead and see how it all played out.
The search through George’s many books had produced nothing related to terrorism but it had resulted in an unexpected bonus when Jessica came across a thin black notebook. She had recognised it immediately even though she hadn’t seen it for years; it wasn’t exactly hidden away, merely squashed between two bigger books on a shelf in the study and George had used it for various work-related contact details. No home addresses, just names, phone numbers and perhaps an email address, together with a single letter above each surname. It wasn’t even a particularly subtle code, just a silly idea suggested by Jessica but taken up with enthusiasm by George; the letter L used for Langley or CIA, T for Thames House or MI5, and so on. In total, there were some hundred names in the book, listed in a loose variation of alphabetical order, the results of some twenty years working on the fringes of Britain’s intelligence agencies.
Once Charlotte and Anderson had left, Jessica retrieved the notebook, and more out of curiosity than expectation, she thumbed through the second half, gaze moving quickly down the list of names. No Patrick McDowell and no Charles Zhilin. Having started along that particular train of thought, Jessica turned somewhat hesitantly to the front pages; a cautious search and she was relieved to see that there was also no listing of anyone named Anderson. She delved deeper, not totally surprised when she quickly found the final name she was looking for: Adam Devereau, with work phone number and the letter V alongside. V for Vauxhall Cross on the South Bank of the Thames, home to the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service, more popularly known as MI6.
Jessica shut the book with a sigh, curious as to whether Anderson was aware of Devereau’s past link with the security services. And, if not, would it really be wise to tell him?