“You should have told him!”
“He’s flying out on assignment. I won’t have him worrying about Wexler.”
“Will you tell him when he gets home?”
“If Wexler hasn’t stopped annoying me by that time, then yes, I will.”
* * * *
My cell phone rang. “Hello, Folana.”
“Portia, why is your son in Bangkok?”
“Excuse me? He’s in London.”
“He’s not. And he’s looking into an operation of mine.” ‘Folana Fournaise’ might be dead, but ‘Vanessa Wood’ was still a figure to reckon with. “Oh, you needn’t worry, I shan’t harm him.”
“Please see that you don’t. And that goes for Bart also.”
“Of course, my dear friend. So you were unaware he’d been sent to the Far East?”
“Obviously. I don’t suppose you know who sent him on this assignment?” Bramwell Rayner, Director of Operational Targeting, was out on sick leave.
“Apparently an Edward Holmes gave him the orders.”
“What else were you able to learn?”
“At this point, nothing more. I’ll keep digging, yes?”