Jane sipped her wine reflectively. ‘Not good. We could only challenge the total illogicality of Straughan leaving provable records of his dealing with an FSB double, and Monsford threw that right back at us, demanding a reasonable alternative for what his evidence showed, which we didn’t have. Straughan did provably make a call to a known FSB operative—it doesn’t matter that he’s a double—and within days Charlie’s flat was burgled by the FSB.’ Elliott spread his hands out towards her. ‘You must have some argument against Straughan going bad!’ ‘We can’t find one,’ admitted Jane, reluctantly. ‘You in a hurry to eat? Your T-bones are too big for one person: I thought we’d split one between us.’ ‘No hurry,’ dismissed Elliott, quickly. Which there wasn’t: he wanted to get around to things gradually, as part of the normal end-of-the-day conversation, hoping she’d fully recognize what—but more important, why—he’d done. ‘What’s tomorrow’s schedule?’ ‘Wilkinson, the only one of the original support group to meet Charlie face-to-face.
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