He was alone in a hostile country, his head full of state secrets, and he knew the authorities were on to him. That much had been made clear by the reaction of the British embassy when he'd tried to report in earlier that day. They had denied all knowledge of his existence, refusing to let him in through the doors. Just a day earlier, he'd been welcomed in with open arms and ushered to a back room where he'd been encouraged to use the holotube terminal to contact his handler back home. The staff at the embassy—people he'd been working alongside for months—had been proud to play a part in the protection of British interests, proud to welcome him into their midst, clapping him on the back and telling him what a stand-up job he was doing, how he was working on the front line for the good of the Empire. Today, however, those very same people had refused to acknowledge him, and that, Rutherford realized, was a very bad sign indeed. That meant they'd been leaned on by the US government and were now trying to protect him, to give him a signal that he needed to get out of New York as quickly as he could.
