Chapter 12
Gallagher was sitting reading a book in the airport departure lounge. It was another in his growing collection on Zen Buddhism and was entitled Nothing Special. Nothing special: that's how he'd seen his relationship with Eve. He'd pushed her away and allowed her to think it was her fault. That made him feel wretched.
It was wretched. It had been emotional cowardice. He hadn't wanted any complications in his life. He'd got them anyway. He'd climbed into bed with MI6 and he had the feeling that he might get shafted if he turned his back for more than a second. His sponsor would need to have some answers about the attack on Le Lion Rouge or Gallagher would be making a nuisance of himself.
Sitting opposite him was a young autistic boy, about 12 years old. The boy had been singing
