The fat man’s bad mood was obvious, but Staughton couldn’t allow himself that kind of luxury. Even though he hadn’t slept all night, he had no subordinates available to relieve him. And he didn’t have any family nearby to relax with. His parents were happily retired in Boston, and women could never put up with his work patterns. Anybody who worked at the agency was so committed that, little by little, duty became all-consuming, eventually disrupting family ties, even close friendships. A true secret agent had no relationship with the outside world, and that facilitated his performance. In this regard, Staughton was no different from the rest, although he did maintain some ties with his parents and other family members. Recently he contacted his mother to tell her he was doing fine. To her, Staughton was a software specialist in the London office of an American company, a cover containing a grain of truth. His childhood friendships had been shrinking over time.
