The Embassy Bet

The betting pool at the Ministry had reached three thousand pounds. Everyone had theories about the corporate spy—some fingered the quiet IT analyst, others the charming undersecretary with wandering hands. Elena watched from her deck chair at the hotel pool, nursing a gin and tonic that was mostly water.

She picked at her spinach salad, the leaves wilting in the afternoon heat. David would arrive soon. David, who said he loved her laugh. David, who had access to the classified server room. David, whose phone had buzzed with encrypted messages twice during their last dinner.

The water shimmered, turquoise and inviting. Two junior diplomats splashed in the shallow end, their laughter echoing against the tiled walls. Elena remembered last night—David's fingers tracing her spine, his breath hot against her neck, then the cold click of her phone camera as she'd photographed his unlocked workstation while he slept.

She swallowed. The spinach tasted bitter now.

"There you are." David's voice behind her. "Mind if I join you?"

Elena forced a smile. "Please."

He sat, ordered a scotch. His eyes didn't quite meet hers. "Beautiful day for a swim."

"I'm not much of a swimmer."

"No?" He smiled, but his gaze kept flickering toward her bag on the deck chair. "I hear the ministry's tightened security. Someone's been accessing files they shouldn't."

Elena's heart hammered. She set down her fork. "Rumors."

He leaned closer. "I know what you are, Elena."

She froze. The spinach leaves blurred in her vision.

David's hand covered hers. "I'm not reporting you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The agency sent me first. We're extracting you tonight."

Elena stared. "You're—"

"MI6." David's grin was genuine now. "And you're the best asset we've planted in years." He slid a flash drive across the table. "The real data. Your cover's about to be blown."

The betting pool would have to wait.