Inside The Doughnut, the Government Communications Headquarters’ main base deep in a Gloucestershire suburb, a small notification popped up on Laurie Draydon’s screen. She clicked it, inspected the contents of the query, and picked up her phone.
“Madam, we’ve got activity on the org’s honeypot.
“…”, she listened to her boss’s answer.
“Yes, it’s facial query.”
“Yes, it appears we do, for one of them.”
“Ex-IRA. Last known activity in 2011.”
“No, the request location is masked, we don’t know.”
“Right. I’ll respond with a decoy. Any particular requirements?”
“Right. Thank you, madam.”
Sitting in the back of an Uber heading home from the night club, tapping on his laptop, Oleg shot off a message into his client’s dead drop:
> We are back on track. Triangulating exact co-ordinates.
Mike Chernov inhaled on his vaporizer. The tall Russian man sitting opposite him was awaiting instructions.