Eli kept his eyes down on the page for a couple of seconds longer before he looked up at Derek. He needed to process what he’d just read and work out some sort of way forward. More than anything he needed to get his agent runner hat back on his head, and not just for his own wellbeing: Derek was not jail sentence material; he wouldn’t survive even a low security prison term, not for the length of time he’d go down if he was caught. Because if Derek were caught and the British knew that they already had some access to signals intelligence, then an angry British government would throw the book at Derek – in other words, twenty to thirty years.
‘Derek, this...’ Eli pushed the sheets towards Red Cap. ‘This letter was not written by your wife. It wasn’t written by the woman you fell in love wi
